


A Fuss In The Haystack

by orphan_account



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Agricultural domesticity, Closeted Relationship, Farm boys, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: By any standards, the toughest kid in Letterkenny wasn’t a likely candidate to be one to tolerate Daryl’s presence for any amount of time. And yet, falling into step with him was as easy as breathing. Daryl never asked himself why.





	1. Chapter 1

By any standards, the toughest kid in Letterkenny wasn’t a likely candidate to be the one to tolerate Daryl’s presence for any amount of time. The kid with the softest birthday parties around. The kid that plucked four leaf clovers and made wishes on eyelashes. And yet, if you considered Wayne's weakness for sad animals, perhaps their instant connection made a bit more sense. Whatever the underlying cause, the fact that Wayne had Daryl's back from the get go was a Texas sized 10-4. Falling into step with him was as easy as breathing. Daryl never asked himself why.

He liked Wayne, who was good with animals and kind in a way that belied both his reputation and his stature. Daryl estimated Wayne was already as tall as his dad, and almost as broad. Daryl still had a way to go to get there in width as well as in height - half a head, by his latest measurement – but he had ways of making himself useful around the farm after school. 

It was good that he did, because kids like Daryl didn’t exactly have a bright future ahead of them after graduating high school. He couldn’t delude himself into thinking hockey was his ticket out of town like plenty of boys his age. Farm hand life had always been the way of the least resistance, and Daryl wasn’t about resistance unless it was from some pricks looking to have a tilly.

But then the haystack incident happened.

The thing Daryl liked most about Wayne was that he provided a good sparring partner. Wayne was physical like Daryl, and easily baited into a chase or some wrassling. All it took was a splash of cow milk or a handful of grains down the back of his coveralls to send him tearing after Daryl across the barn yard, vaulting over obstacles and climbing the haystack where he last seen Daryl disappear. Daryl would fling himself at Wayne from a high vantage point to take him down, there would be some pulled punches and some shoving before Wayne twisted Daryl’s arm onto his back and made him yield.

Until something changed.

Wayne still chased him into the bunker they built out of hay bales to hide from Wayne’s dad, but instead of twisting his arm, Wayne weighed Daryl down, flat on his back, each of his limbs pinned by superior weight.

He released one of Daryl’s arms and reached out to pluck some hay from his curls when Daryl did nothing else but peer up to study Wayne’s troubled squint. Wayne flicked the stalk away like he usually did the butt end of a dart.

‘Wish you weren’t so fucking awkward about this, bud.’

Daryl wasn’t sure what Wayne meant, but Wayne said it often enough for Daryl to know his awkwardness never did anything to endanger their friendship. If anything, his awkwardness allowed Wayne to feel better about his own behavior, in which he always seemed to have trouble reconciling his dad’s set ways with his own moral compass and compassion. Daryl could see he struggled when he held a big dog on his lap as a buffer between himself and the world, and just sat petting it for the longest time. And so Daryl took it upon himself to be awkward and carefree and soft for both of them. He didn’t care so much what Wayne’s old man thought, having never received the beatings that instilled that caring.

‘What?’ Daryl asked for the hell of it, because Wayne wasn’t usually so specific in his wording unless he wanted to get a point across.

‘You’re giving me the big eyes,’ Wayne said. ‘When a girl is sweet on a guy-’

‘I’m not a girl. You saying I’m sweet on you?’ 

‘Fucking looks like it, if you ask me.’

Daryl’s insides twisted into a knot. He’d finally done it. Made things too awkward.

‘You want me to kiss you or not, big shootsie-wootsie?’ Wayne asked in a voice that was milder than it had any right to be in this situation.

Daryl laughed for all of three seconds before it hit him that – fucking right that’s what he wanted.

The sensations of their first brief kiss were mostly drowned out by the thrill that someone was finally kissing him, it was happening, his best bud was kissing him in the haystack, this was probably a weird dream and he was going to wake up and never be able to look Wayne in the eyes again.

Wayne pulled back to do exactly that, look at him for a long moment, without squinting this time, giving Daryl a rare flash of his irises. When he moved in for another kiss, Daryl opened his mouth underneath Wayne’s, as much because he knew he was supposed to as it seeming the natural progression of things. Even though Wayne didn't taste very good – he tasted the way old darts smelled, and Daryl probably did, too – it was an awakening of sorts, lifting the oppressive fog of small-town life like a fading dream in the morning.

Wayne shifted his weight on top of him, though not to restrain him this time, his tongue entering Daryl’s mouth. He took one of Daryl’s hands and laid it on his waist. Daryl brought the other up, feeling hard muscle move under his fingertips. The pressing contact between their bodies set his skin and his brain alight in a way that fighting did, though nothing hurt except the tight swelling of his cock under the button closure of Wayne’s jeans.

Wayne pulled away when Daryl slid a hand into the back pocket just to see how it felt; how far this would go.

‘Take about twenty percent off her, there, Darry.’

He did, but neither then of them knew how to carry on from there. Wayne pushed himself up onto his knees, and patted Daryl’s shoulder the same way he showed his dog affection. They got up to smoke a dart outside before Wayne’s dad would come looking for them.

‘Darry…?’ Wayne asked after a while, wearing a pensive frown. ‘You think that could happen again some time?’

Daryl shrugged as if the mere suggestion didn’t set him alight like a wildfire in the heat of summer. ‘Get after it.’


	2. Chapter 2

They never skipped the roughhousing. Bouncing a pebble off the back of Wayne’s head when they picked stones was a good way of letting him know he wanted something, as was kicking the legs out from underneath his chair when they sat in the back bush with rifles waiting for a coyote dumb enough to show its face. What had once been awkward attempts to get noticed now served as code they both used to drop their work and get in a good make-out and some dry-humping neither of them would ever acknowledge.  

The first time Daryl came was embarrassing. He’d been lying in wait like a sniper behind the produce stand, a nerf gun loaded with wet paper pellets at the ready. Once Wayne stopped cursing and trying to get the stuff off his face, he chased Daryl into the barn where stone enclosures separated the calves in winter. It was abandoned now, and vaulting across the waist-high wall landed them on dusty concrete with errant straws here and there. Daryl took the first punches to his gut laughing, knowing that once he curled up to shield himself, Wayne would open his arms and legs with determined strength, and he’d yield to crushing weight and ashtray kisses.

Sitting over Daryl on hands and knees, Wayne only lowered his head for a quick kiss at first, but Daryl pulled him down with arms around his waist. He didn’t go through all that trouble for one lousy peck – he’d been adjusting his chub ever since he lay down in the grass.

The uncomfortable grind of his back on the concrete faded to the background as the press of Wayne’s abdomen rubbed him rock hard. He had trouble drawing in breaths between kisses and suppressing groans. When Wayne hoisted up one of Daryl’s legs to shove a hand under his ass, breaking things up to back down from  the edge with a dart or to jerk off in the bathroom was suddenly no longer an option.

With his mouth widening and involuntarily turning their kiss sloppy, Daryl stifled a gasp in the suspended heartbeat before release hit him.

Wayne froze on top of him, pulling back slightly. Daryl had no idea how to normalize his fucked-out breathing to hide what happened.

‘Ah, fuck, bud,’ Wayne said in that disappointed, slightly disgusted tone of his before getting to his feet and disappearing without so much as a look.

Spunk wetly stuck his shirt and underwear to his belly when Daryl got up. Hoping it wouldn’t seep through his coveralls before he reached the house, he stuffed his hands in his pockets to prevent the materials from touching. 

It was just his luck that he had to squeeze past Katy on the stairs. He didn’t say hi and she didn’t tell him to go home, but for the first time in a long while, he wanted to. Especially when she honed in on his awkward posture.

‘Did you hear someone sing ‘Oh Canada’ outside?’

Daryl opened his mouth for a smart reply, but couldn’t find the words. He moved on with shame burning his face. Up in his room, he changed and tossed his soiled clothing in a garbage bag along with some other laundry. Nobody stopped him when he walked down the laneway and crossed the road to make his way through the back fields.

His step-father was watching daytime TV when he got to his mother’s house. His mom was probably at work, so he moved on to stuff his clothes in the laundry machine and take a shower. It was hard not to think about what happened while he waited for the spin cycle to be done. Milking time rolled around, and anxiety about his chores almost made him go back to help out like he should, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up.

He sat scraping the bottom of a yoghurt when his mom came home.

She ruffled his curls before kissing his cheek. ‘Hey Darry. You should’ve told me you were coming home for dinner.’

‘I’m not,’ he said quickly. ‘Just… had to do some laundry.’

‘Well, have you eaten?’

‘Yeah,’ he lied.   

He slept in his old bed that night, or tried to. The next morning, his mother woke him from fucked up, angry dreams about Wayne that faded to disjointed images as soon as he opened his eyes.

‘Daryl, sweetie… I just had Wayne’s dad on the phone asking whether he needs to find himself a new farm hand.’

Daryl sat up and slipped into his coveralls. The cuffs and collar were still damp and cold. ‘No, I’ll go.’

He stopped himself from taking a pack of darts from his step-dad’s stash on the way out, knowing his mom probably paid for them.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Wayne’s dad asked when Daryl passed by the kitchen to put his clean laundry in his room.

Daryl considered lying about his mother needing him for something, but didn’t want to get tripped up by the details later.

‘I missed my mom,’ he said instead.

‘You’re ten-ply, son. Get your ass to work.’

He didn’t speak to Wayne that day, and only said the bare minimum the day after. Wayne didn’t seem particularly keen to address what happened either, and let Daryl stew.

When the weekend arrived and Wayne’s parents went to Modean’s for drinks, Daryl went to bed early, because what the fuck else was he going to do? He wasn’t talking to Wayne, and Katy refused to call him anything but Sally ever since she got wind of why Daryl supposedly left the farm. The worst thing was, she didn’t even know the half of it.

He was underway to a fitful sleep when the floorboards under his bedroom door creaked. Figuring it was either Wayne going to bed or Katy sneaking a hockey player or two up to her room, Daryl paid it no mind until his mattress dipped.

Wayne didn’t say anything when he rolled Daryl over to face him on his side. Daryl accepted his kisses, though he had trouble scrounging up any enthusiasm with his embarrassment about last time holding him back. It was hard to pretend what they did was some harmless messing around now that he’d made it so unambiguously sexual. Still, the hand squeezing his ass got him hard, which made it difficult not to rock against the thigh wedged between his legs.

‘What are you doing?’ Daryl whispered when Wayne suddenly pulled away and rolled him onto his stomach.

‘Figure it out.’

Rough denim chafed his ass through his underwear with the slow grind of Wayne’s hips. Feeling him hard against his crack went a long way towards dismantling some of the humiliation he’d be carrying inside for the better part of a week. Hearing Wayne’s breath catch in his throat against the shell of his ear did the rest.

‘Why the fuck do we do this, Darry?’ Wayne asked, staring up at the ceiling in the dark with his arms folded behind his head.

‘Figured it beats fucking animals. Did you know that one in four farm boys try to have sex with cattle at some point in their lives?’

‘That’s almost not worth thinking about.’

Daryl let out a quiet laugh. ‘Though after what you just did, I’m not even sure what the difference is anymore.’

‘Do you wanna get smacked?’ Wayne asked pointedly.

A smile pulled at the corners of Daryl’s mouth when Wayne eventually rolled out of bed, likely cursing the cold, wet patch in his underwear.

‘’Night, super chief.’


	3. Chapter 3

They got goddamn soft at times, too. Never in broad daylight, but when night fell over the snow-blanketed farm and Wayne’s parents were playing bridge with the neighbors and Katy was out. Wayne liked to pretend he did it for Daryl when they curled up on Daryl’s bed and snoozed in the cold blue light coming through the windows, and Daryl had no problem taking the accountability out of his hands. Not when no one else knew, anyway.

If anyone ever found out, that would likely be the end of them. Wayne would swear him off and marry some girl to put up a front until his dad croaked or signed over the deed to the farm. Or maybe for the rest of his life, seeing as he’d had no trouble dating girls before. It was a scary thought, what with Wayne being Daryl’s entire life. 

‘You ever think about getting back together with Angie or stuff like that?’ Daryl asked, lying face to face with him on the scratchy woolen blanket that covered his bed.

Wayne stiffened, a troubled frown taking over his expression.

‘Well, yeah…’ Wayne let a pause fall as he considered it. ‘It sure was a lot fucking easier.’

‘She’s a good girl.’

‘She’s a great girl,’ Wayne agreed. ‘Like, it’s impolite to kiss and tell, but…’

‘What?’

‘Forget it.’

Figuring there was nothing he could do to change these facts of life, Daryl put it from his mind. What they pretended not to have now was good, but he could survive if he and Wayne went back to just being friends. He wasn’t someone that planned ahead, and he was never going to ask another person to sacrifice anything for him. He could content himself with living in the present. If you didn’t have any expectations, how were you ever going to be disappointed?

‘Like, it was a lot easier to figure out what she wanted. What girls want. You can read about it in magazines and on the internet. About what they like.’

‘You know what I like,’ Daryl said. ‘I like the same things as you.’

‘I mean, I know you like blowing up beaver dams and fighting hockey players–’

‘Exactly. I don’t even know why we’re not blowing up beaver dams right now.’

‘Because everything’s frozen solid, big shoots,’ Wayne pointed out with that long-suffering patience he saved for Daryl’s denser remarks.

Daryl shot him a grin. ‘Well, I can think of some other things I’d like.’

‘I ain’t pulling your horn, bud.’

‘Aw, why not?’

‘Do I look like the type of prick that would touch another dude’s horn to you?’

Daryl shrugged. ‘I would. You’ll get there eventually.’

‘Well, this is getting to be awfully gay, Darry, if I do say so myself.’  

Rolling away from him, Daryl got up to open the window and have a dart, but Wayne clamped a hand around his wrist, and pulled him back onto the bed, against his chest until they were spooning. He said nothing, and Daryl didn’t either, not wanting to disturb whatever it was that had gotten into Wayne. A rough, cold hand flattened his curls against his head, kind of like how Wayne played with his dog’s ears when he sat making idle conversation at the kitchen table. It made Daryl smile – quietly, to himself.

He closed his eyes as the hand travelled down his front, savouring the touch through the three layers he wore. He was hard before it reached the waistband of his jeans, which probably didn’t help, but it wasn’t as if he could stop it. Giving as little reaction as possible, he let Wayne palm his cock through the denim, fervently hoping they could make just a little more progress today.   

Daryl held his breath when fumbling fingers undid the buttons of his fly, leaving him to strain against white cotton underwear that rubbed over his exposed glans with every twitch of his cock. Wayne rucked up Daryl’s sweater and shirts, but then hesitated, his hand hovering over bare skin.

‘Fuck you, Darry,’ he muttered, shoving his hand into Daryl’s underwear with grim determination now that he made up his mind.

‘Please and thank you–’

Biting back a groan out of fear it’d be off-putting, Daryl arched into the firm, borderline rough strokes. Wayne shoved his other arm underneath Daryl’s ribs, bringing it up around his chest to keep him in place. Daryl felt his deep, deliberate breaths against the back of his neck as Wayne’s hand pulsed up against the material of his underwear. He gave himself over to the arousal building between his legs, radiating outward to engage his entire core. When he came, Wayne slowly withdrew his hand, wiping it on Daryl’s jeans.

Daryl buried his face into the mattress, squeezing his cock through his underwear to ease the aftershocks of his orgasm. As his breathing levelled out, he got up and shucked his soiled clothes. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Wayne while he got into a pair of clean jeans. Wayne looked resigned, more than anything, as he sat up and propped a pillow against the head board. Catching Daryl’s eye, he began to unbutton his fly.

Feeling bold, Daryl sat over him to push his underwear out of the way, and lowered his head.

‘Pump the brakes.’

Daryl looked up. ‘You’re pumping the brakes on a blow job?’

‘Hell, I’m stomping the brakes. Put that idea right through the fucking windshield.’

‘But why?’

‘It’s too fucking gay, Darry.’

Daryl shrugged. He supposed Wayne was the type of guy that needed change to be gradual. Well, he had time. All things considered, it was quite something that they sat here talking about it while it was still light enough to discern some of each other’s features. If Wayne needed to feel in control of how things happened, Daryl would give him that.

It did feel pretty gay, taking another guy’s cock in hand and watching his mouth fall open a bit as he gave it an experimental stroke, which was not to say that was inherently bad. Messy, yeah, and briefly terrifying when downstairs the front door unlocked while he still had spunk on his hand. But not so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this fic. Now excuse my while I brood on something a little darker and more painful, coming soon.


End file.
